


One Step Forward

by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Car Sex, Cold, Cold Weather, M/M, Samifer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:45:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Lucifer end up caught in a blizzard, stuck in the Impala.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Step Forward

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift to [winchinchilla](http://winchinchilla.tumblr.com/)! Hope you like it!
> 
>  
> 
> **Disclaimer:** This is fan-run and this writer is not officially affiliated with the CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., and other official affiliates tied to the TV Show "Supernatural." This user does not claim ownership to the official content of Supernatural and does not seek profit off of the work produced presently. Plagiarism of this current story will not be tolerated and will be reported following AO3's terms of service. The stories, additional characters I create, are mine. This story was not created for profit. Making profit is deemed copyright infringement unless sanctioned by copyright holders (i.e. CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., etc.). Copyright infringement can range from paying a fine to actual jail time. Please do not claim this story as yours! Please do not sell this story! Please do not reproduce this story! All violators will be reported and dealt with severely! 

_“Love me as though there were no tomorrow_  
 _Take me out of this world tonight_    
 _Take me, make me forget my sorrow_  
  _So, when I wake tomorrow, I’ll know our love was right.”_

**Love Me As Though There Were No Tomorrow by Nat King Cole**

 

Lucifer has a rustic and uncouth manner of expressing his attractions to his one true vessel. At times it’d come in the reiteration that they were meant for the other in many ways to this sort of nitpicking and admonishing as if Sam was a child. Yet always there was that lingering look where Sam pretends to not notice the caged in hunger hiding behind those frost blue eyes. Not once does the Devil act upon it, however, as if even that needed a form of consent to be signed by both parties. Were all angels this difficult? 

The Winchester has been staring at the meandering blond through a tiny shop in the middle of Iowa. The group was present for a case and Sam was supposed to be out collecting supplies, but Lucifer popped in and the grocery list remains unchecked in his back pocket. Sam’s been plucking items through these little shops that had less to do with hunting and more to do with winter festivities. Lucifer’s to blame. He bought a few blankets, scarves and jackets -- fighting off the urge to complain again to the blond archangel that he wanted to pay for the items, but no matter how much money he slapped down on the counter, it only returned inside the worn leather of his wallet. 

Sam gave Lucifer one of the scarves, a deep navy, offering it to him. 

“You’re going to get cold,” Sam explained and Lucifer arched a brow, face dropping into mild disbelief. 

“Sam, I _am_ cold,” he protested but Sam simply pursed his lips, shooting a challenging look as he tore the price tag off the scarf. 

“You’re going to get cold,” Sam repeated as he wrapped the scarf around the Devil’s neck, eyes focused on the work of his hands that he misses the smile directed at him. 

It’s been an hour and Lucifer still had it on, Sam watching him stare with rapt curiosity at a Santa figurine. It was slowly shifting into a menacing frown, as if there was something incredibly offensive about the jolly, openmouthed grin the Santa was wearing. Sam chuckles under his breath before he walks further into the store, eyeing the knickknacks with mild interest. He paused when he fell into the bath products shoved in with the incense. Scratching at the back of his head, he peered about at the items before pausing the marked and labeled glass bottles of oil. Plucking one, he turned it over to squint at the back before unscrewing it to take a whiff. 

Scowling and putting that one back, he found himself occupied in religiously smelling each one before finding one he found pleasing. Taking a deep breath, he walked about eagerly in search of the archangel who was still locked in a staring match with the Santa figurine. Lucifer pulls his head away when Sam is near, attention instantly given to him. 

“Hey, check this out,” Sam waved the bottle about, blue eyes flicking over to stare at it, “I was reading somewhere that birds need to be preened ever so often. I was wondering, maybe, if I could...lend a hand.” He did more than read, Sam’s been researching endlessly on the matter and even went to talk about it with Castiel. Castiel, thankfully, was unaware of the reasons why he was curious and answered that their wings did need tending the way birds needed to care for their wings often. If Lucifer was so deaf to his own wants, than Sam was going to nudge insistently and annoyingly until something happens. 

“That’s unnecessary,” was the defensive response, a look of distrust and wariness apparent in his gaze.

Sam stares, dumbfounded, at the sure response. Lucifer returns to the Santa figurine and Sam’s lips are pursed, disapprovingly watching the scene. 

“.....but I really want to do this,” Sam begins again, “For you.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

The hunter grumbles and stalks off, placing the item back before leaving the store, his grumblings becoming louder when the harsh cold hits him hard in the face. Bags hanging off his left hand, he glared at the whipping cold scenery about him, stomping in the snow-covered sidewalks like a petulant child. He had no idea how to tell Lucifer that he was interested in him and that it’s okay to act on his own feelings -- that he wouldn’t reject him -- without blatantly saying so. Ugh, but that was embarrassing and Sam wanted everything to be smooth and effortless. He knew he was at fault and being stubborn (just like a certain fallen archangel), but the easy way out seemed so damn nice. Dean would berate him and say that sounded like “junkie Sam” talking, a thought that left Sam only angry and determined.

“We need to get out of here,” Lucifer was suddenly beside him, a cold hand on his upper forearm, bright eyes staring elsewhere. 

Sam continues on, not willing to jerk his arm out of Lucifer’s hold, staring intently before him, “No, I’m quite fine here.” 

“ _Samuel_ ,” Lucifer heaves out and it is Sam’s turn to shoot a scalding look at the archangel, displeased at the name being used. “A blizzard is about to hit in less than ten minutes. It’s unsafe to be out. We need to go back. I will take you -- ”

“No. You’re not going to zap me out of here. We’re doing this my way,” the Winchester explained stubbornly and calmly, because he didn’t want this. They were going to confront this problem upfront, not shuffle around it until someone else does it or it’s forced into forgetfulness. Although a blizzard was not quite the problem he was referring to, but not all problems come with neat and packaged solutions. A tough pill to swallow. Nothing comes easy and as much as Sam professed there was a grand philosophical epiphany to be had in this upcoming experience, he was a bit childishly wounded by Lucifer’s own stubbornness in not letting him help. So to hell, he didn’t want _his_ help than. “You can go, if you want,” Sam added in afterthought, feeling his words lost in the howl of the wind. 

One step forward, two steps back. Sam didn’t want to address that, thoughts conflicting and unproductive.

Lucifer’s hand slides down his arm to grab at his wrist, Sam pausing as he can feel a coldness in those fingertips that rip at his nerves, his attention immediately drawn to the archangel. “Don’t be stupid, Sam,” came a thick growl before the blond’s head is pointing at the direction the opposite of theirs. “You parked up there, not down here.” 

Sam kicks a bit at the ground underneath him, ducking his head down to hide the sudden giddy grin on his lips. “Oh,” he mumbles, hiding his mouth in his scarf as both turn to walk in the right direction. Lucifer looks impeccably serious and concerned as they walked onward, occasionally barring his teeth into the cold as if he would rip Mother Nature in two for her insolence. Not once did that hand leave his wrist, fingers that have slipped underneath jacket and sweater to be pressed against the warm flesh of his wrist. Small nuisances and quirks that Sam is hopefully and greedily reading into, because he thinks he’s understanding more and more. 

When Lucifer wants something before him, he’s unbearably charming and charismatic, showing sympathy when necessary and smiling on cue. An actor who has only a mirror to teach himself the blocking and gestures, but when malicious intent is vanished, there is a being whose social graces are flawed and balks at being challenged, tongue having the mighty power to be vicious, insensitive and sharp. Than there are those moments when the Devil is rich in attitude and playful banter, but Sam wearily takes notes that’s usually when someone is about to die or already is dead. 

They were two stubborn beings clashing against the other, resisting aid because their own troubles should trouble themselves and themselves alone. But here was Lucifer saving his rebuttals to confront this problem Sam’s way -- to solve it like a human. 

Sam has the inexplicable urge to move his hand and thread his gloved fingers through Lucifer’s exposed ones. 

Because Sam’s grateful. 

Because Sam wants to. 

But too sudden and perhaps too soon.

The Winchester keeps it to himself, pulled out of his own thoughts when they come to a halt. Sam finds the Impala already being covered with snow, knowing that somewhere out there Dean is pacing about in fear over his beloved car. “We need to get inside now,” Lucifer urges and his fingers leave his wrist, moving over to the driver’s seat and opening the door for Sam as if it was always unlocked, blue eyes coaxing him to get inside. Sam hurries into the seat, the Devil’s frame blocking the harsh wind before the door is closing behind him. The Winchester shoves his bags into the backseat, relieved to be somewhere dry.

The blond is beside him in the soft beats of wings, looking disgruntled in being inside a car. The blizzard hits hard, wind screaming past the windows as snow is whipped around, already beginning to bury the world about it in pure white. Sam turns the car on and leaves the vehicle in park, drawing his hands back from the wheel. His fingers fiddle with the heater before hot air is beginning to push out of the vents, sound of plastic rattling softly in the confines of the dashboard. 

“Well...we’re going to be stuck here for a while,” Sam broke the silence before turning to the archangel, smiling at the archangel’s furrowed expression that’s directed at the door of the vehicle. “Alright, scooch over to the back.” 

Lucifer turns his head and gives the brunette an appraising look, as if asking if Sam was genuinely ordering him about. Sam simply stares back before moving his head in a gesture towards the backseats of the Impala. 

“Bossing the devil around?” the blue-eyed archangel questions, words carefully enunciated and eyes narrowed, daring the Winchester not to back down, “That’s...bold.” _And stupid._

Sam gives a nod, unfazed, “Yup. So. Going to move?” 

Lucifer finds himself in the back of the car in but a minute, shooting the seat before him a look that could peel back the furnishings of this vehicle until its metal skeleton is all there is. Sam crawls ungracefully after, all long limbs and arched back, enough to subdue the scalding look into quiet curiosity as the archangel watches its vessel. He watches Sam push a few bags out of the way, pulling out the bought items, piling what he’s interested in on his lap before shoving the bags to the front. 

Sam’s unfolding one of the blankets before he’s sliding across the leather seats, stopping when his thighs are pressed against Lucifer’s. “Here lean forward so I can get you in this, too,” the Winchester asks and Lucifer stares in quiet confusion at the hunter’s words. 

“I’ll only make you cold,” the archangel reminds. 

“No, you won’t,” Sam assures firmly and Lucifer blinks in silence, pallid blue orbs searching the Winchester as if trying to find some sort of alternative motive or something distinctly wrong with his future vessel. There was nothing and willingly he leans forward so his back is not pressed against the leather seat, feeling part of the blanket pulled about him. Lucifer leans back, watching silently as Sam yanks another blanket and throws it over their fronts. 

Sam doesn’t remember if the radio has always been on or not, busy sitting in spiked fear and anxiety. His heart has been thumping like mad against his chest the minute those fingers slipped against his wrist outside and now its battering against his chest until its bruising and aching. Sam doesn’t know where that sort of courage came from to take the lead with someone who could easily rip him apart with a snap of the fingers but someone had to take the lead. He needed to push aside his own fears and do something and it seemed like Lucifer was trying to meet him halfway at the moment.

He’s maneuvered himself so he’s leaning against Lucifer’s shoulder in the cramped back of the car, staring out at the frosted window. Lucifer has remained silent and still like a statue, and for all Sam knows, he could be tuned out the way Castiel does when he’s searching the town for them. Billie Holiday is crooning through the radio and all Sam can do to ease the tight knots in his stomach is think of how royally pissed Dean would be to know that oldies are playing over the radio with his baby brother trying to make a move on Satan. That makes Sam chuckle and smile, somewhat calming his nerves. God, he has not been this nervous since he tried to ask Jess out. 

Sam takes a steady exhale and turns towards the blond, finding blue eyes staring inquisitively at him. Sam’s hands search underneath the blanket for Lucifer’s hand, causing the blond to shift just slightly in a quiet show he was aware but remaining compliant. Sam pulls the hand out of the confines of the blanket, eyes staring at the hand, turning it over so its palm was facing him. 

“I was thinking...” Sam begins, pausing to clear his throat, “That...well, you know when you touch something so hot that it feels cold? I was thinking maybe its the same way with you. You burn so hot it feels cold.” It came a bit sloppy out of his mouth, boldly letting his index finger run across a line on Lucifer’s palm. It sounds so stupid in Sam’s head, scowling internally as he struggles to remember the scientific phenomena for such a thing. Something to keep the conversation flowing because he was not going to sink into silence, stubbornly refusing to not make the best out of this opportunity. 

Turning his head to start talking about sensory receptors, Sam is witness to a flash of a smile before lips are pressing against his. They are cold. Tastes like the blizzard outside and for all that bravado Sam showed, he finds the reins taken from his grasp gently as that clever tongue flicks against his lips. The Winchester willingly opens his mouth and there’s a hand slipping down to hold his waist, fingers possessive and gripping him as if there was an underlining worry that Sam may disappear at any given moment. 

Only when the Winchester felt himself grow lightheaded did the blond pull back, Sam sucking in air to refill his desperate lungs. Those earthy green and speckled brown eyes stare at the blond who only asks quietly, “How did that feel?”

Sam licks his lips, feeling them pull into a welcoming smile, “Not cold enough. Think we should try again.” 

Lucifer doesn’t have the words to properly explain to the Winchester that his Grace was cold because of his fall from Heaven. It’s a sign of disgrace. Of having your heritage and name ripped from your being and what was once the brightest and most beautiful is of no more such. It’s the absence of God, divine privileges and Heaven. The coldness in his Grace was just a reminder of what was wrongfully taken from him, feeding him the ammunition and fuel to continue on, but to hear this... To hear that he burned too hot... He couldn’t find the words to express or explain that those words may have just been the most beautiful sound to have ever graced his ears. He’s deeply flattered and more so that it came from Sam’s mouth. So all he can do is kiss Sam until he’s breathless, dipping his head down to reward his strong jaw with light kisses until those lungs refill. 

There’s a sensation of wholeness filling the fallen archangel despite that both of their incredibly tall frames are shoved into the compact back of the Impala. He could twist the fabrics of space and physics to make it wider, but he doesn’t. No tricks. So instead both of their bodies bump and press against the other, Lucifer chuckling low in his throat when Sam hits his head against the roof of the car for the sixth time. 

“You sure you don’t want any help from above?” Lucifer hums out and Sam huffs as he struggles to pull his sweater off his frame. He grumbles and purposely bumps his knee against the blond’s, earning another spill of laughter before hands are helping him pull the sweater off. His shirt catches and is pulled with the sweater. There’s a playful tone in his laughter and Sam stares down at the archangel who looks genuinely pleased and lively at this very moment. Sam likes this side of Lucifer where the laughter leaving him is genuine, not cruel and abrasive. It makes Sam nearly forgetful that there is a powerful entity behind flesh that should be considered his enemy. Lucifer feels more receptive and willingly being patient with the commanding Winchester. 

It makes Sam wonder when was the last time the Devil has relinquished his trust onto someone, if not briefly. 

Plopping down beside Lucifer, toeing his shoes off, he turns his head to the archangel who greets him with a possessive kiss. There’s a demanding promise behind those lips and Sam sighs against those lips when they pull away. His warm hand moves to cradle the older being’s jaw, asking in the warmth of the car and the trickling of Nat King Cole’s voice accompanying Sam’s breathing. “Do,” Sam takes a deep breath, “Do you want to do this?” 

Lucifer leans into the hand, giving a lazy smirk, “You need my consent?” 

Sam gives a stifled laugh as he gives a nod, “Of course, I’m your one true vessel.” 

The smirk turns into a grin before he’s leaning in, breathing out a “ _yes_ ” against Sam’s lips before they connect. Sam kisses him eagerly, becoming the transition one sees in a sentence that brings upon a different train of thought, lips sliding against each other with budding aggression. Hands are grabbing each other, Sam gasping when those icy hands scaled his bare frame in a manner that made Sam feel mapped out. Each slide of those fingers felt like a silent claim to every bit of him and Sam felt obligated to return that claim of ownership. 

Hands push the thin jacket off of the Devil’s shoulders, trying to concentrate on his actions while ravenously battling for dominance in this kiss. But Lucifer’s sly and mischievous in the way he kisses, openmouthed and licking the roof of Sam’s mouth until the hunter is trembling like a leaf at the curious sensation that runs across nervous system. Sam moves in for more, crawling onto Lucifer’s lap, one of the blankets sliding off onto the floor of the car. 

“Ow,” Sam huffs when his head bumps into the roof again, the archangel giving a snort in mirth as his hands reach out to cup Sam’s face, bringing his head down. Sam’s head is bowed and wearing a half-formed pout -- that Sam will never admit to -- as a cold kiss is planted in the middle of his head. “I know,” Sam sighs, turning his head upward to lock eyes with Lucifer, his lips already pleasantly swollen, “But...want to do this right.” Sam wants this to be genuine so that it has substance and means something, even at the cost of bruised limbs and whatnot. Lucifer gives a noncommittal ‘hm’ and moves his hands off Sam, fingers pulling the scarf off of him with great care before pulling his shirt off.

“The last time was,” Lucifer begins carefully, hooded lids staring at the middle of Sam’s chest in thought, “Was about...oh, before Eve was formed.” 

Sam tilts his head, curious and confused, “Last time of what?” 

The blond’s fingers toy with the button of Sam’s jeans, answering in the growing heat of the Impala, “Preened. You can do it yourself but it’s a tiring process and there are spots where one can’t reach that well. Strange to make us...fallible to such pests and dirt when we were crafted with that perfectionist touch... But the last time that I had someone touch my wings like that was before Eve. The last person to have touched them nearly gutted me like a fish.” The last sentence comes out as a bland fact that makes Sam’s face contort with concern. Cool fingers are tracing the dip of Sam’s pelvis, hand moving inside the Winchester’s underwear, Sam gasping when graze across hot flesh. It’s purposely distracting and Sam forces himself to remain focused, his own hand resting against Lucifer’s bare chest. 

“I’m not going to do that to you,” Sam replies firmly and steadily in the darkness of the car, “But I’ll wait.” Lucifer tilts his head and stares at him in muffled surprise, and it should be troubling how his one true vessel has a way of taking him off guard and by surprise. Huffing in determination, Sam slips out of Lucifer’s hold to flop on the empty spot beside the blond, pushing the rest of his clothes off. Leg room is nonexistent but he manages to slip out of his clothes somehow, ignoring the amused look Lucifer was wearing at the painful struggle of the hunter removing his clothes. 

Sam instead moves his hands confidently over to undo the button and zipper of the Devil’s jeans, mouth dipping down to kiss at the exposed navel. Sam can feel cool fingers rubbing at his side before they’re clamping down on him, a sharp inhale filling the confines of the car as Sam’s fingers are wrapped around his arousal. Eyes are watching him like alert sentinels of sparked blue as Sam gives a testing stroke, a pleased sound rumbling in the depths of the archangel’s chest. 

Calloused hands work slowly, pulling out those deep rumbles until they begin to move up to the angel’s throat. Leaning his head down further so he’s closer to his working hand, he gives a curious swipe across the tip, eliciting a wet sound lost somewhere along his throat. Sam can’t claim to have any experience with this, but he was eager to make this work, focusing on what he would want if he was the one sitting down. There’s a newness in the way he lets his mouth kiss across the sides of the archangel’s arousal, gauging from the blond’s reactions what worked well and what didn’t work so well. 

Lucifer’s fingers are idly combing through his hair, breathing hard and skin feeling as if it was buzzing with energy. Moving his hand to the inside of Lucifer’s thigh, Sam’s mouth parts to latch onto the tip, a moan coming into fruition. Cold air is hitting the nape of his neck, the archangel bent forward to nip brusquely at exposed skin, the hand on his side making a move towards Sam’s bent knee digging into the seat. Encouraged, Sam moves his mouth down lower, breathing harshly through his nostrils as he feels his pride swell at the sounds leaving the angel’s mouth.    
Lucifer leans back, eyes never leaving the Winchester as Grace continues to willingly accept the sensations the human nerves were receiving, taking it up as its own. This may be, perhaps, the only time in his occupation of Nick did he finally let Grace communicate with body. The hunger, though, is his. He claims it and it’s satisfying, as if this was the sort of starvation you should hope to obtain. To have it sated and yet increase was enough to make him feel as if he really has been using Nick’s lungs: breathless. 

Fingers are fisting into Sam’s hair and hips are lifting off the seat, pressing deeper into Sam’s mouth until it’s pushing its way down his throat. There’s something pleasant and melodic leaving Lucifer’s mouth as hips force themselves back down, Sam relieved as his gag reflex is no longer being pinned down. A muscle is trembling in one of Lucifer’s exposed thighs, Sam moving his mouth to suck on it, feeling those blue eyes boring holes into him. 

What Lucifer would do to have all of Sam. He wants Winchester entirely: the good, the bad and the ugly. This only made his touch firmer, thoughts obsessive and mouth intent on memorizing every patch of skin on Sam’s toned frame. While this was intimate, watching Sam drag his tongue across the underside of his length, it had the possibility of more. He could twist his Grace about Sam’s incandescent soul but that was a two-way street and the link formed was to expose them both to the other. It’s an expression of vulnerability and more to the other but it was too soon to do such a thing, and the archangel still had his reservations. But this was a good beginning and it makes his fingers move to trace the back of Sam’s neck and shoulder blades. 

Groaning low when Sam’s mouth returns, his head tips back when the motion becomes repetitive, basking in the sensation. It’s only when Sam moves away does his eyes open, a disgruntled sound forming in his mouth, fingers slipping away from Sam’s locks. 

“Demanding,” Sam huffs, sitting up to push his sweaty locks off his face, greeted with an outstretched hand to destroy his attempts with his hair. 

“Brat,” comes the response from Lucifer, voice scratched and gruff. Leaning forward, lips seal against Sam’s, feeling those cool-to-the-touch hands guiding him back onto his lap. “Watch your head,” the archangel grumbled before he’s biting at the skin on his chest, Sam forced to hunch forward, already feeling a strain in his neck. 

Adjusting himself, Sam reached down between them to wrap his fingers around the archangel, feeling that mouth move to bite him in the shoulder in response. It’s a disjointed movement, positioning himself as he’s skipping ten steps ahead to visualize how this is supposed to work out and will look. Teeth nip at his neck before kissing the hollow of it, a hand sliding across his while the other pushed down on Sam’s hips. Gritting his teeth, Sam grimaces before forcing himself to sink down into the blond’s lap, earning a mouth searching out for his. 

The blizzard is such a far off problem, instead sitting gratefully relieved as he’s given time to adjust, showered with the soothing kisses across his skin. Hands are rubbing at his thighs and it’s when pain dies into something tolerable does he lift himself up. 

Sam’s affectionately shown Lucifer’s gratitude in the form of searing kisses across his skin and hands sliding across his sides reverently, as if he’s some precious idol to be worshiped through touch. When hands catch his hips and hold him in place, Sam gives a huff, stirring a strand of hair that landed before his eyes. The archangel’s hips snap up, the hunter’s head dropping as he grunts in surprise, caught in the greedy and quick thrusts of a now commanding archangel. All Sam can do is shift his hips when allowed, giving a strangled sound when his skin feels alighted in pleasure, hot and permanent. Each thrust has a demanding punch with it that hits him hard, making his limbs quiver and mouth ajar, uncaring of the lewd sounds leaving his mouth. 

A hand suddenly is slipping over his eyes and there’s a mouth against his mouthing his name out, the Winchester responding by shoving his mouth against it. Teeth click against each other and the kiss is desperate and messy, Sam barely catching glimpses of light through the spots between Lucifer’s fingers. When the hand is finally removed, he’s shaking and drenched in sweat, seeing sunspots in his vision. Leaning back into the seat behind him, he pants harshly as he assesses the mess on his stomach and than the Impala. 

“Dean’s going to be pissed.”

Lucifer rubs at one of his eyes with the heel of his palm, carefully lifting Sam up to ease out of him. He slides upward so he’s sitting straight on the seat, coaxing the Winchester to sit. “From what I’ve known so far, usually after sex, you don’t start a conversation about your older brother,” Lucifer hums out, Sam grumbling and playfully pushing at the Devil’s knee with his hand as he moves onto the seat. 

“Jerk,” he replies with a huff, holding his hands up in a sign of surrender as he slides into the seat with a wet whine of sweaty flesh against leather. Sam ignores the urge to demand a shower, instead pulling his shoulders back to pop his back before leaning into the archangel. An arm wraps around his shoulder, a kiss pressed into the side of his head as both sit in the confining Impala. Sam takes a deep breath before boldly reaching out and taking Lucifer’s free hand into his lap, letting his fingers thread through his. 

He smiles to himself because he finally did get to hold Lucifer’s hand, resting against the fallen archangel as he lets himself be lulled to sleep.

Sam woke up to a painful knot in his back and someone rapping on the window. Blinking sleepily, he pushes the blanket on top of him off his face so he can properly stick his head out, looking up at the window upside down. Eyes watch as a hand is trying to rub the snow off the window he’s staring out at, not quite registering what on earth is going on. It’s only when he feels stubble scrap against his thigh did he push the blanket further back to see a blond head of hair. 

Lucifer grimaces at the change in brightness, resting his chin on Sam’s hipbone. “Too early,” he huffs out before eyes lift up. “I hope Dean brought coffee.”

“What?!” Sam nearly sputters out, sitting up with a groan in pain to stare down at the content archangel with his nose now buried in his hip at the movement. Sam turns his head to the window and he can hear Dean’s muffled voice calling out for him as the ice is being scraped off. 

The archangel yawns and noses into his skin, looking more like a well-fed feline than some tyrannical archangel. “Smile and wave for Dean,” Lucifer smirks against his skin, planting a kiss on a sweet spot beneath Sam’s navel, causing the Winchester to suck in the air immediately. 

“You’re awful,” he groans, a hand slipping across the Devil’s jaw, the blond lifting his body up in response so their lips could meet. There’s a moan trapped between their mouths, feeling the Winchester’s fingers fist into his hair. Dean’s voice is a loud shout in protest and the angry jerking of the door handle, and Sam can’t make heads or tails of what is spilling out of Dean’s mouth. 

_“I’m going to break the window! I’m gonna do it!”_ Dean’s voice carries through and Sam scowls, biting into Lucifer’s bottom lip harshly. Sam’s hand moves and searches blindly for Lucifer’s wrist, moving it onto his bare hip. _“Son of a bitch! Do that again! I dare you!”_

“You better not have been waving!” Sam grits out between a gulp of air before silencing the oncoming laughter about to leave Lucifer’s mouth with a demanding kiss. The damage control on this one was going to be a bitch but if it means this -- well, call it well worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


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